


And I don't want the world to see me ('cause I don't think that they'd understand)

by confusedsheep



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Character, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Not Beta Read, Sex-neutral Crowley, mild anxiety and a little bit of a panic attack, sex-repulsed Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 15:50:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20438561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confusedsheep/pseuds/confusedsheep
Summary: The next milestone Aziraphale set for himself concerning his relationship with Crowley loomed threateningly over him, but unlike the other ones up until now, he wasn’t so sure if he actually wanted to reach it. While he was still in the relative safety of the restaurant, it all made sense in his mind and sounded nothing but rational. Yet now, in the privacy of Crowley’s apartment and two bottles of wine later, Aziraphale isn’t so confident anymore.Also known as the fic in which Aziraphale figures that Crowley wants to have sex, but he's not so sure if he wants it too.





	And I don't want the world to see me ('cause I don't think that they'd understand)

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse for this except that it occupied my head for awhile and I wanted to get rid of it. Did I do any research? Nope. Did I project myself in this? I sure did. Am I capable of writing comfort? No way in hell. Anyway, I did this and it's done and it's up and I don't care anymore (lies; she enjoyed it and will re-read it).
> 
> Also, the title is from Iris by Goo Goo Dolls

„I was just saying to Newt that it’s nice you two made time to visit. Kids were really looking forward to see Crowley. And you too, of course.“ Anathema leaned closer over the table and added conspiratorially in a hushed tone: „They’re playing at Heaven and Hell a lot these days. Right before you arrived, Newt had been an angel captured by a group of pirates, who are secretly demons, and were to be tortured.“ She straightened back and nonchalantly took a sip of tea.

In this precise moment, shrieking laughter of the kids cut through from the outside, which left Anathema unfazed, but caused Aziraphale to glance worriedly in the direction of the garden. Nothing to worry about, he tried to persuade himself, Crowley is outside with them. It did not have the calming effect he hoped for.

“There haven’t been any… difficulties? Since the whole ordeal… have they?”

“No, no, nothing out of ordinary. Well, except that none of us can remember, what _exactly_ happened. But also it was quite a long time ago, so that is that. Sometimes, I feel like it’s just out of my grasp; that if I try a little bit harder, it will come to me, but it never does,” she sighed with defeat.

“That is nothing to be worried about, my dear. I am sure it’s for the best,” offered Aziraphale and helped himself to cinnamon teacake that laid on a decorated plate on the table between them.

“How is your friend?” he remembered to inquire after some time, right before digging into the second helpings of the cake. “That Pulsifer boy?”

“My _boy_friend and he’s fine, I guess,” she shrugged. “He had to find a new job around here, which was a bit annoying – with all his whining about computers and mean HR managers, but it worked out in the end. He’s really supportive of my work and hobbies, we share our housework, and you wouldn’t believe what a great cook he is. Also he enjoys time spent with me.” She took another sip of tea. “And the sex is great,” she added as an afterthought and winked at him.

Aziraphale put down the fork, his appetite lost at the moment. He avoided the eye contact and tried to cover that he’s uncomfortable with this issue by repeatedly dabbing a napkin to his mouth.

Anathema didn’t seem to notice his distress and continued: “I mean, we basically started our relationship with sex – at least according to the Agnes’ prediction and some hazy memories from the day that may or may not have happened, so I was a bit worried, you know, what if he thinks I do this all the time, with anyone, but he’s been great about it. All my friends complain that their boyfriends only think about themselves and their _needs._ That’s just so selfish! Newt always wants me to feel good. He makes sure that I’m okay with whatever he’s doing and wants to make it as good for me as it is for him. That should be a- a common courtesy, at least!”

“Oh. Tha- that’s kind of him,” stuttered Aziraphale and fervently wished he was outside with the kids instead of here. There were just some things he preferred not knowing. Nor discussing.

Anathema finished her tea and poured herself some more. “Sorry to bother you with this, it’s just that I don’t have any adult here to talk to about it. I have yet to fit in the community.”

Mercifully, Wensley chose this moment to barge in and pulled Anathema outside to involve her in their game. Aziraphale took a moment to slowly sip his tea to compose himself and then followed them to the garden.

***

On the way back to London he’s, for once, not as concerned with the speeding and swaying of the Bentley as usual. He let Crowley floor the speed pedal all he wanted as his mind was still preoccupied with his chat with the young lady. Some bits of it echoed in his mind and his thoughts were slowly snowballing into a swirling mess.

_Newt always wants me to feel good._

That’s a good thing, isn’t it? If you like someone, you want the best for them. You want them to be happy, to be able to not worry about anything. To feel safe, to know that you won’t let anything happen to them. To know you will protect them from any danger that may stray their way. You want them to feel cared for. To feel loved. You want them to feel _good_.

You want to _make_ them feel good.

_All my friends complain that their boyfriends only think about themselves and their needs._

If you love someone, you have to be selfless. You have to be considerate of their wants, of their _needs_. It’s not important what only _you_ want. There are at least two people in a relationship and nobody likes selfishness. You cannot always have only your way with things. Sometimes you have to compromise. You have to think about what the other person wants and try to meet their needs in order to make them happy.

_That should be a common courtesy, at least!_

You shouldn’t just expect things from the other person, you should be prepared to give something back as well. You have to show you’re prepared to work on the relationship. It’s not a one-way thing. You have to do your part. You have to show that you are willing to make an effort. That you’re ready to forget about yourself and _your_ needs in order to satisfy _their_ needs.

“…yours?”

Aziraphale’s taken a back momentarily. Did he say anything of that aloud? First sprouts of anxiety started to emerge, while he’s trying to ignore them. “I beg your pardon?” 

Crowley glanced his way as if asking if everything’s alright. “I said, if you’re in mood for wine, whose place are we going to – mine or yours?”

Aziraphale turned to look outside through the windscreen, although there wasn’t much to see apart from other cars desperately doing their best to get out of the Bentley’s way. His mind was on fire and he couldn’t make it calm down. He’s not even sure what’s happening to him. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t think.

“Can- can we have some dinner first?” He would prefer being alone for a while to take care of the situation – or to try to push the problem away – but he’s not that lucky. He couldn’t just shoo Crowley away and then brood alone in the shop; they were way past that point in their relationship and the demon would be either suspicious that something is seriously wrong, or hurt that Aziraphale’s shutting him out. So this way, he would at least get more time to pull himself together before faced with a long evening in sole company of Crowley and alcohol. Dangerous combination, that one.

“Fine, dinner it is. Any preferences?” He still threw glances at Aziraphale, or at least in his general direction as his eyes were hidden behind the sunglasses, but the angel was pointedly staring ahead.

“I’ll leave it to you,” he dismissed it and instantly knew that wasn’t the right answer as Crowley completely forgot about the road and turned to face him. “Crowley! Watch the road!” he scorned him, a bit of panic creeping into his voice.

The demon turned back to the front, but kept casting puzzled glances to his left from time to time.

***

It’s been months since they mutually acknowledged the secret they were forced to keep to themselves. They were finally free of the surveillance of Heaven and Hell, so it shouldn’t be an issue, but after millennia of fear of being found out, the force of habit was too strong to be simply dismissed. Every meeting outside was still accompanied with the need to scan the surroundings for possible threats. Every evening spent in each other’s company was contaminated with worry about uninvited guests from the respective parties showing up at their doors. And yet they were reluctant to part at the end of the day, promising to see each other in just a few hours.

It took them weeks to be able to close the mandatory gap they were used to maintaining at all times. Slowly at first; sitting a few centimetres closer on a bench, standing a tad closer while feeding ducks, walking just close enough for their hands to accidentally brush every now and then. But once they started, they couldn’t get enough. First few touches were accompanied with the feeling of embarrassment, yet also determination. Such an intentional touch was absolutely unimaginable not so long ago, so they basked in the new awareness that now it did not matter if anyone saw. They were able to make it happen. They could do it without the fear of repercussions. So they did.

Even so, such a miniscule task as holding hands took them almost two months. Putting one’s arm around the other’s shoulder took a few more weeks and another couple of weeks before hugging become a thing. Considering how long they had to wait for something like this to happen, few more months or even years weren’t really an issue at this point.

Except maybe they were. Now, after a year and few months on top of it, they were fairly familiar with cuddling and kissing, the first being Crowley’s favourite part (although he would vehemently deny it), the second being somewhat acceptable to Aziraphale, while never initiated by him.

It does not need to be said that the angel’s experience with relationships wasn’t exactly vast. More like non-existent, if you don’t count the theoretical knowledge gained from books and other media, and that was mostly concerning humans, not ethereal and/or occult beings (thankfully; he once came across such a “romantic novel”, which left him with slightly traumatising mental image he hoped to forget soon). He supposed Crowley must be the one who’s more familiar with this issue, him being a demon; but for some reason – and Aziraphale strongly suspected that reason being his own decades old statement about a certain someone going too fast for him – he held back and let the angel set the pace. Or - to be more precise - he let him stumble into an unknown territory and wander around without any clue what he’s supposed to be doing.

Right now, the next milestone he set for himself loomed threateningly over him, but unlike the other ones up until now, Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to reach this one. He has pondered on this issue for quite some time, actually, turning it over and over in his head, not finding an acceptable solution. Angels - and demons, for that matter - are, after all, sexless - unless they really want to make an effort, so usually the kind of activity he had in mind was out of question. If you asked him the day before, he would have told you he did not feel that it was worth the trouble. It was understandable that humans liked it all right - and not only for procreation reasons, not even remotely - as it supposedly generated some physical reaction perceived by an individual as pleasure if the right nerves were stimulated. That sounded acceptable, but in reality it was also horribly messy, and weird, and inefficient, and frankly too much trouble for such a short moment of blissfulness. At least, that’s the image Aziraphale gained over the years spent on Earth. He would not admit it, not even after several bottles of wine, but there was a time, when he decided to experiment as he was rather prone to enjoy little human pleasures such as food, good books or nice clothes; he did it strictly on his own, though, as there wasn’t a person he would trust this with. This experience only proved him right (and left him with some disturbing memories he buried deep inside).

He couldn’t ignore that sex was perceived as a part of romantic relationships. Young Anathema even started hers by the act itself and, from her monologue earlier today, it was obvious that sex was an important part of it. It was her words, which stirred up the current swirl of thoughts in his mind.

_Newt always wants me to feel good._

That’s what every couple wanted, wasn’t it? To make the other person feel good. Sex feels good, at least to humans. Probably demons as well, considering that they are all rather enthusiastic about lust and temptations. Angels, though? Who knows - Aziraphale certainly wasn’t going to ask _Gabriel_. Maybe it wasn’t an angel thing, maybe it was just him, who didn’t find it appealing in the slightest? If it was up to him, he would stick with cuddling and kissing (if necessary), thank you very much.

But it wasn’t up to him, was it?

_All my friends complain that their boyfriends only think about themselves and their needs._

If he was to make this relationship work, he also had to think of what Crowley wanted. He waited for so long to make this relationship possible; they both did, but Crowley realized the truth much sooner than he did. The angel once asked him about it while they were sitting on his sofa in the bookshop’s back room, Aziraphale reading Hall’s _The Unlit Lamp_ and Crowley skimming newspapers slouched into impossible position with his calves in the angel’s lap. The demon’s eyes stopped for a moment, frozen on some word he was not really seeing. It was obvious he was weighing up his options before he offered with a shrug: “Long time ago, angel, don’t worry about it, there was nothing that could have been done anyway.” (He did worry about it, though.)

After all this time and all the sacrifices, Crowley deserved to be happy. Although one of the Arrangement’s goal was for them to repay each other every deed to create a balance, Aziraphale felt that it was mainly himself, who benefitted from it throughout the years. Crowley saved his face time and again, even going as far as saving his beloved books for him that unforgettable night in 1941. It was time for Aziraphale to hold his end and make sure Crowley gets what he’s due. He wanted him to feel loved. Wanted him to feel good. Wanted to make him feel good.

_That should be a common courtesy, at least!_

He will not be selfish about this. He will make the necessary effort and give Crowley what he needs. It can’t be that difficult. It’s just a physical activity, almost like an exercise. Exercises aren’t that bad - humans always insist that it is good for one’s health. He, as an angel, doesn’t exactly need it with him being immune to illnesses, but it also cannot do any harm - even Gabriel was jogging to stay in good condition. It will just be a bit uncomfortable and awkward (And possibly hurt a little? The resources were a bit vague about this point.), but at least it won’t take long; he will be sweaty and sticky in the end, but that’s nothing that cannot be fixed. He won’t even have to do all the work - it should be enough to just hint that he’s ready for it to happen and leave the rest to the demon. It’s not like his active participation has to be required; at least the first time it should be enough to let Crowley do whatever he feels like doing and cooperate just enough to make it work smoothly (and speedily, if possible).

He raised his eyes to take a good look at the demon siting on the opposite side of a table.  
The red hair he has been seeing since the beginning of Earth and that sparked joy in him whenever he caught a glimpse of it throughout the history. It was such a shame he took to keeping it so short lately – it would be lovely to let his fingers run through the long curly strands.  
The sunglasses which became Crowley’s signature look no matter what length or shape his hair was or whether he wore men’s or women’s clothes.  
His beautiful yellow eyes, barely discernible behind the sunglasses, that he didn’t get to see nearly enough.  
The perfect cheekbones he liked to stroke with his thumbs before Crowley leaned in for a kiss.  
The nose he couldn’t not peck when presented with an opportunity.  
The lips whose soft touch he loved to feel on his forehead.

He loved this person and he would do anything to make them happy.

“Are you alright?”

It took him an embarrassingly long moment to notice that Crowley’s watching him back with curiosity and a hint of concern in his expression.

“Yes, my dear, perfectly fine,” he hurried to assure him and quickly turned his eyes back to his plate. What was it he had been eating?

“Did something happen with the book girl? You’ve been awfully quiet ever since your chat. Did she noticed some weird stuff going on or something?”

“Oh no, no, she said that everything was impeccable. No inexplicable happenings, not even any malevolent aura. It is a perfectly normal countryside these days,” replied Aziraphale truthfully. Only it wasn’t the whole truth; at least not where the first question was concerned. While sidestepping the real issue, he risked only a glance or two in Crowley’s direction, as the demon was far too good at recognizing when something doesn’t quite fit as it should. This wasn’t an issue he would be comfortable discussing, not even with Crowley. This was his own problem and he was the one who’s going to deal with it. Preferably as soon as possible, while he’s still determined to endure it and before he lost his nerves.

***

While he was still in the relative safety of the restaurant they dined at or even later in not-so safety-friendly Bentley (which wasn’t the car’s fault, that was entirely on Crowley and his driving skills), it all made sense in his mind and sounded nothing but rational. Yet now, in the privacy of Crowley’s apartment and two bottles of wine later, Aziraphale isn’t so sure anymore.

The more they kiss and the closer Crowley’s body presses to him on the pitch black sofa, the fiercer the growing feeling of anxiousness that bubbles inside him like a hot magma getting closer to the surface, threatening to spill over. He tries to focus on Crowley, on his presence that makes his senses reel, and on the love which radiates from the demon and completely washes over him whenever he is around until the angel is unable to think straight. He tries to hold on to his own love for the demon, on the feelings that had whole centuries to grow and develop bottled deep inside of him. And he tries to hold on to that single, most important thought right now - that he’s doing this for Crowley. He will give him what he wants. He _will_ make him feel good.

Aziraphale uses the moment Crowley withdraws slightly back to take a breath (not that he needs it, except he really really does) and forces his shaking fingers to find the buttons of his vest. He leans back a few more inches, pressing himself into the back of the sofa, and locks his gaze with the demon, who somehow, while the angel was otherwise preoccupied with being kissed silly, managed to find his way on his lap. Aziraphale takes a calming breath, which usually works – at least with humans, trying to find comfort in those beautiful yellow eyes, and makes to undo the button. His fingers momentarily forget what is expected of them, though, so he fumbles with it for a second before it finally pops open.

So far so good. He can do this. He moves to another one. And another one. And the next ones. These surrender immediately, leaving Aziraphale no other option than to move to the last one. Crowley is staring at him with those unblinking eyes, like he’s trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. Aziraphale is still holding his gaze (although he has to blink) and shakes the vest off.

With rediscovered determination, his hands move up to the bow tie, hesitate for a moment and then plunge right in and pull the ends to untie it. Next are the buttons of his shirt, but he does not get further than touching the upper one. Crowley is completely still and just keeps his eyes trained on Aziraphale, his face carefully blank and unreadable. Aziraphale does not like it. Is he doing it wrong? The surge of bravery he managed to muster is almost gone. His heart is thumping wildly and the sound of it fills his ears, making it difficult to hear anything else. The trembling of his hands gets worse, so he isn't entirely sure how he manages to get the button opened, but he does. He moves to the second one, stopping just short of unbuttoning it. Crowley's eyes jerk down to the open collar and now he can't mask the surprised expression that flickers over his face. There is something more mixed in there, but Aziraphale refuses to acknowledge it and closes his eyes instead.

He feels like crying. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It should have been easy - everyone around was doing it, so it can’t be _that_ bad. He should just lose the clothes and leave Crowley to play around a bit - see, it’s nothing harmful; it’s just his body, a mere vessel, nothing will happen to it. Crowley won’t hurt him. He wouldn’t do anything that could possibly hurt him. He’s safe here. He’s safe with Crowley. Everything’s fine. He should just hurry up, grit his teeth if needed, and get it over with already; not being on his way to work himself up to a full-blown panic attack.

It is too late now, though. His chest feels tight and cold and no matter how much he tries to breathe, he can't get enough air in his lungs. It is a terrifying feeling, even for someone who don't actually need any air. The constant thumping of the blood being pumped into his veins gradually drowns all the other sounds until he could have sworn (if he was capable of speaking, which - at this moment - he is most definitely not) he actually tastes it as well. His eyes are opened again and casted downwards, although he isn't aware of seeing anything anyway. Now it is just him and the crazy thumping sound filling all the space around him, replacing even the oxygen and forcing him to gasp to help his constricted lungs, who are screaming for air by now. Is this how suffocating feels?

A sharp voice cuts through the haze. “Breathe, you idiot!” For few more moments, Aziraphale is completely lost, but then he slowly becomes aware of two strong hands cradling his cheeks, thumbs lightly stroking his cheekbones and the skin below his eyes. It is so tender he almost thinks he’s imagining it, but the longer it continues, the more clearly he feels calluses of the demon’s hands, easily recognizable to Aziraphale by now. He feels that Crowley is tugging him closer to rest their foreheads against each other. The angel flicks his eyes up to Crowley’s face, which is far too close for him to be able to see it properly. Crowley is saying something, a whole lot of something by the looks of it, but Aziraphale can’t make out any of it just yet. He gives up on trying and focuses instead on breathing that is still quite erratic, but at least some air managed to get to his lungs. The tightness in his chest finally eases up a bit after few minutes, so he is able to regain control of himself again.

He is still sitting on the sofa, but Crowley’s weight disappeared from his lap as the demon is now kneeling on the floor beside Aziraphale’s legs. He is still caressing his face while his eyes worriedly scan for any signs of further distress in case it threatened to return and hit the angel once more. And it is still there, Aziraphale feels it, just beyond his reach, but waiting for its opportunity. He’s still fighting with breathing properly while his mind already races ahead again, blaming him for silly behaviour and overall cowardice.

It’s just a normal physical activity, just like a hug; a bit more complicated, with a higher degree of the physical contact and some nudity, but essentially almost the same. What’s there to be so afraid of? They have hugged plenty these past months and it felt _good_; that‘s his goal, isn’t it – to make Crowley feel good? Who knows, it may even feel good to him too, once he overcomes the-the – let’s just call it what it really is, shall we? – genuine disgust at the sole thought of it.

That’s the problem, isn’t it? He was supposed to do this for Crowley. He wanted to show him how important he was to Aziraphale and that the angel’s willing to work on their relationship. He would have shown him his selflessness and his will to make an effort to let the demon feel he’s loved and cherished as he deserves. Instead, it’s him who drew all the attention to himself again, working himself up over nothing and needing to be comforted. His face burns with shame.

_Just do it already_, his mind orders him, _don’t be such a drama queen about it! You’ve always been good for nothing-_

“Angel?” tentative voice interrupts his thoughts. It is only now that Aziraphale notices he is clutching Crowley’s forearm. He immediately lets go, mumbling a quiet ‘sorry’. Crowley cradles his face a moment longer before withdrawing his hands and leaning back to sit on his heels. He peers up into Aziraphale’s face, trying to figure out what’s just happened. Whatever he sees seems to be explanatory enough; he lets out a long sigh. He heaves himself from the floor, somehow managing to entangle his legs in the process, so he almost falls right back down. In the next moment he regains his balance, finally towering over the sitting angel, although a bit wobbly. For a terrifying second, Aziraphale thinks he’s going to leave, and his chest tightens again in response, but then Crowley collapses on the sofa. He is right beside him, but the angel notices that at no point do their bodies touch. His expression is serious, but Aziraphale feels oddly relieved that there is no signs of strictness or anger. Nor any disappointment, which is the one thing he was afraid of the most.

Crowley hesitates for a few seconds, not sure what to do, but then slowly opens his arms in invitation: “Come ‘ere?” Aziraphale immediately shifts until he is safely tucked against the other, his head resting on Crowley’s collarbone, his arms sneaking around his thin waist. He can hear the demon’s heartbeat like this, much slower and steadier than his own. Crowley’s arms are loosely put around his shoulders, his chin propped on top of Aziraphale’s head. It’s nice. Crowley’s presence grounds him, helping him chase away remaining feeling of anxiety, and the weight of the limbs encircling him makes him feel safe. He could stay like this for at least few centuries.

The angel is, however, aware that the reality is still out there, waiting for him with impatience. He knows that the questions about what happened are due and dreads them, suddenly convinced Crowley will laugh at him. He tries to brace himself like he always used to do when he was about to speak with Gabriel, but this time it does not work. The kinder part of his mind insists that this isn’t Gabriel or any of the other angels, who he had to keep at arm’s length; this is Crowley, and although he could be a nuisance sometimes and tease him, he wouldn’t laugh at him in the malicious way his superiors did. The meaner part of his mind nods its understanding and then proposes a completely opposite opinion that this time he is so ridiculous that even Crowley _will_ laugh (and possibly leave).

The real Crowley remains silent. He’s still holding his angel and makes no move to interrogate him or make fun of him. It’s a pity Aziraphale can’t see his expression from their position, but it is also a relief, because just as he can’t see Crowley, Crowley can’t see him, and right now he doesn’t want to be seen, not even by the demon.

Finally, after what feels like hours, but probably wasn’t nowhere near that long, Crowley moves. Aziraphale expects him to disentangle and back away, but he only shifts his hand, so now the demon’s fingers are running through his curly hair, gently massaging his scalp. He can’t remember if Crowley has ever done this before; usually they were in the opposite roles: Crowley lying down with his head in the angel’s lap and Aziraphale combing through his much too short hair with fingers, wishing it was as long as it was when they met for the first time so he could braid it. It has never bothered Aziraphale that Crowley didn’t reciprocate it, but now, when he finally experiences the pleasant feeling of someone’s fingertips brushing his skin, he can’t help himself and leans into the touch.

In the end, it’s Aziraphale who breaks the silence. “You must think I’m eccentric.”

“Of that I have no doubt, angel. Not sure if anybody told you, but I’ve known you for six _thousand_ years.” This prompts a small smile from Aziraphale.

Crowley continues, though, in more serious manner: “I’ve seen you worried, and anxious, even scared, but nothing like this.”

Aziraphale’s smile disappears, partially because he‘s taken aback. Crowley isn’t the most eager person to talk about feelings and usually he avoids anything that’s even slightly related to such topics like the plague. Aziraphale knows the demon will bottle everything inside if he can help it and it would be easier to pull out all of his teeth than get him to talk about what’s bothering him. Even so, now it is Crowley who outright prompts the angel to talk, giving him space to vent out anything that may have worried him, and is prepared to hear him out, and it is so incredibly thoughtful of him that Aziraphale feels like crying again.

This isn’t something the angel wants to be known about him, though. He could refuse to comment on it, could pretend that there is nothing to say to that and force Crowley to let it go. And he’s really tempted to; nobody needs to know the truth and he can, for the time being, pretend it was just a little too big step for him. That he needs more time. That he will, in fact, go with it once he’s ready.

Will he, though? It took him enough courage to try the first time and now that he knows how that went, he’s pretty sure he will not be in a hurry to repeat it anytime soon. Maybe if he added more alcohol or one of those substances humans have- no, that’s not an acceptable solution and it may turn out catastrophically wrong. Best to say nothing and act like nothing’s wrong. But that would only end up making Crowley look forward to something that wasn’t going to happen in foreseeable future. After all they’ve been through, the demon deserves better than be treated with silence.

Aziraphale briefly closes his eyes and then soldiers on. He lets go of Crowley and pulls himself back, away from the warmth of their embrace. The pleasant touch of a hand in his hair disappears, but the other hand stays on his back, sliding from his shoulder a bit lower to his waist. Aziraphale shifts, so he is facing the mostly bare interior of the room instead of the demon. He feels Crowley’s eyes trained on him but pays it no attention. Absentmindedly, he starts picking on his nails, flicking his eyes repeatedly down on them and back up, focusing on nothing in particular. He wishes he had something to drink to distract himself and just as his eyes fall on the coffee table, a mug with hot cocoa appears on it, steam still rising from it. He gratefully glances in Crowley’s direction, offering a small smile, and picks the mug up. It isn’t his favourite one with the wings, but it will have to do.

He blows a few times on the hot liquid before taking a careful sip. It’s fascinating how well Crowley seems to know him; he’s always a step ahead when it comes to things Aziraphale wants. He gives them to him so readily and has never refused him anything, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. And Aziraphale isn’t ashamed to take advantage of it, even exploit it when it suits him. Why is it so difficult to do the same for the other, though? Whatever Crowley asks of him, the angel somehow makes it look like a major nuisance, even if it’s unintentional. He‘s aware he fails to pay enough attention to the demon’s needs and has never offered anything without any strings attached. And now, when he wants to do something for Crowley for once, he can’t even make himself go through it like the pathetic selfish bastard he is.

The angel’s first words do not turn out well: “I- uh.” Aziraphale forces himself to take a steadying breath, eyes flicking over the room. Then he continues as cheerfully as he manages, but his smile is strained: “I am terribly sorry, my dear. I-I must have overthought it a little bit. Perhaps we could start over again?” He hates how his voice quivered at the end of the sentence; Crowley will surely notice.

From the corner of his eye, Aziraphale sees that the demon flinches. He risks a glance and regrets it immediately. Crowley could be expressive even with his sunglasses on, but without them it’s a whole new level. The angel quickly averts his eyes, but it’s too late. Among other emotions radiating from Crowley, it is the anger that makes him tear up. He really is pathetic, just like his superiors always said.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at. Have you noticed you’re still shaking?” Aziraphale can clearly hear the irritation that is seeping from every word. In contrast to the harsh tone, Crowley’s hand on his back starts to move in small circles, trying to sooth him. “Whatever’s the matter, it is clearly still an issue, and as much as I enjoyed you being this bold, I sure as hell don’t wanna see you having another panic attack like that.”

“Oh, I didn’t– it wasn’t–”

“It was, angel. And I’m not letting you go through it again.” Aziraphale is aware of warmth spreading inside him, which has little to do with the hot cocoa. It feels especially pleasant after the cold pressure that is still somewhat grasping his chest, making it hard to breathe. It is a little better now, though, so he savours the relative ease with which he can inhale again, even if technically he doesn’t need to. Force of a habit, mostly. He takes another sip of his cocoa. Sweet. Just as he likes it. Of course Crowley knows; he knows everything about him. Almost everything.

Aziraphale lowers his gaze to the mug held in both of his hands in his lap. From the beginning, keeping secrets wasn’t an issue between them. The Heaven propaganda always insisted that demons mislead and tell blatant lies, and to be completely honest, he did expect it to be truth, when he first met Crowley. So he was pleasantly surprised to find out he and all of the Heaven were wrong; looking back at all those years in each other’s company, he can’t think of a single time Crowley would lie to him. Sure, when hurt or angry, he would lash out, saying harsh things he probably didn’t really mean, but even then he avoided outright lying. Aziraphale grew accustomed to such a luxury, later even took it for granted, no matter what his superiors drilled into him. Eventually, it ended up being him, a celestial being, who was the first of the two of them to tell a lie. A white lie from his perspective, yes, but still a lie. And he has regretted it ever since, as it almost led to him losing Crowley. He isn’t going to repeat this mistake ever again.

“I wanted to do it, for you. I thought you’d like it. Everyone seems to like it, even the young lady told me so. Of course I would have done it, if it is for you. This isn’t a thing to be selfish about. It’s just a common courtesy.” The words are out before he can stop them. It sounds nothing like him; all the words are curt, jumbled together, and muttered in a way no human would have made sense of them.

Crowley isn’t a human, but he doesn’t seem to grasp the meaning either. “What do you mean, angel?” He isn’t teasing, isn’t trying to make fun of Aziraphale’s incoherency; he’s genuinely interested and wants to understand. It is painfully evident from his entire posture that his attention is undividedly captured by the angel. It should feel nice to be someone’s focal point, but it only makes Aziraphale nervous. He wishes Crowley would leave him some space and let him pull himself together. He’s too in the open like this, too vulnerable. But at the same time he’s grateful for the support Crowley provides by the uninterrupted physical contact between them. It’s oddly reassuring. The demon’s hand is, in fact, still repeating the soothing circular motion on Aziraphale’s back, encouraging him to continue.

And suddenly Aziraphale’s surprised to realize he wants to tell him. To get it off his chest. To confess that there’s something wrong with him. To apologize. To try to explain and to make Crowley understand. Maybe he will know what to do.

“Well, I- I thought, that it’s time. I had a conversation with the young lady, Anathema. But I was thinking about it even before that. Humans find it quite nice, I’m told. I thought it would be… appropriate. For us to add another aspect to our relationship. And you would like it, wouldn’t you.”

Silence stretches between them until Crowley furrows his eyebrows. “What on Earth are you talking about?”

“Sex, my dear. Be so kind and do keep up.”

Here it is again – that carefully blank expression. It isn’t indifference, not exactly; more like an equivalent of standing aside, waiting, and watching what Aziraphale will do before he acts himself.

“Nowadays, humans seem to be almost obsessed with it, if you ask me. It is, of course, connected to procreation, but it was always a part of human lives they really seem to enjoy. Some even if it wasn’t morally acceptable. Temptations can be unconquerably strong – you would know, of course. You probably had your share. Anyway, I thought it wouldn’t be fair of me to keep you waiting. That I should– We! We should– ”

“Hold on, hold on. What’s with these ‘temptations and my share’?”

“Oh, Crowley, do I have to spell it for you? You are a demon – one of a kind, unlike any other of course, but still a demon. And with your look and your-your,” he gestures to Crowley’s body, “you surely must have seduced quite a number of humans. That’s not the point.”

Crowley’s eyes widens at that and he opens his mouth and closes it again few times. He’s clearly taken aback, which – given what’s just happening here not while ago – is a bit of an overreaction in Aziraphale’s opinion. Even the hand on the angel’s back stops moving, but at least stays where it is. Oddly, it has a calming effect on him, seeing Crowley so flustered.

Aziraphale takes a deep breath. “The point is, my dear, that I know we probably should get to it already and I truly don’t want you to wait any longer; Go- _I_ know you waited long enough for any of this,” he gestures vaguely between the two of them, “but I am afraid I do not feel up to it. It’s not that I don’t want to do it with _you_,” he hurries up to add, stubbornly refusing to even glance in Crowley’s direction. “I don’t want to do it with anybody. It’s been like this since the beginning. A defect of this body, perhaps. Too bad I cannot file a complaint to have it replaced.” A bitter smile appears on his face, before he erases it in order to sip some more of his cocoa and simultaneously to hide his embarrassment.

Crowley finally manages to find his voice again. “You don’t want to have sex.” There’s no incredulity, no disappointment. It’s just a flat statement, his voice not even raising enough to make it a question.

“I-“ the angel hesitates, but then decides it’s time to reveal the truth and continues, “I do not, unfortunately. It doesn’t have the nice connotations for me as it has for other people. I like the touching and cuddling, anything more is just… uncomfortable. It doesn’t even remotely feel good. It’s just– strange and unnecessary and if I could, I would avoid it entirely.” Aziraphale stops himself for a second to take another deep breath. “But I thought I would go with it, if it’s for you. I really hoped I’d get over myself and show you that I care, that I want to make you feel good. Forgive me, my dear, I’ll do better next time, I promise–“

“There will be no next time.” 

The echo of the last words rings in Aziraphale’s ears. He was so certain that it will work, that he will get Crowley to understand, but now the cold dread is back, spreading in his chest, clawing and gripping inside. He’s afraid to move, as if the world would shatter around him, if he tried it. Time is slowly dragging ahead and each second feels like an hour. Maybe if he didn’t do anything, didn’t even move, everything would stay as it is, including Crowley’s hand still on his back.

“If you don’t like it, we’re not doing it. It’s simple, Aziraphale. I don’t really care if we have sex or not; there are plenty of other ways you could show me you care or whatever nonsense you’ve come up with.” Crowley wrinkles up his nose and then an idea hits him hard, making him quickly rearrange his expression into the one of concern, before he schools it under the mask of indifference. It’s quick, barely there, but Aziraphale notices anyway. “What else you don’t want to do?” He probably aims for casual and laid-back, but misses by several feet. He pauses and the next words sounds like they are dragged from him with considerable effort: “From the things we’ve already done.”

Aziraphale’s breath hitches as the Crowley’s voice betrays how much hurt those words contain, the emotions so raw that even the demon has a hard time trying to conceal them. The hand on his back disappears this time. The angel looks at him before he can stop himself, but his expression is completely blank. For Aziraphale, expressionless Crowley is the most painful to look at as it means that all the emotions are shut inside, throbbing and festering, causing more damage than they would in the open. He can’t help himself and averts his eyes; this is Crowley hurting and it’s him, who’s responsible. Again. That is exactly what he wanted to avoid; if only he kept quiet, he wouldn’t be here now, at loss how to deal with it.

The silence is clearly too long for Crowley’s liking. “Wass there even sssomething you _wanted_ to do? _Anything_? Or wasss it all just your pity for me?” The anger is back, ready to lash out and not care about any possible victims.

Aziraphale hurriedly puts the mug down and shifts, so he can face the demon again. “It’s not like that. I love spending time with you. I can’t believe I’m so lucky to see you wake up next to me, your eyes all scrunched up and your hair a complete mess. I look forward to every sunset we watch together, even though I enjoy your arm around my shoulders way more than the disappearing sunrays. I’m prone to close the shop earlier just to feel you hugging me from behind once I lock the door. I enjoy all the times you’re snuggled on the sofa with me while I’m reading and you let me pet your hair. I’m quite comfortable to sway with you to the music and let you see me ruining all the dance moves we are trying to learn. I like how embarrassed you get when I praise you and kiss your temple. I’m happy when the weather’s chilly and you cling to me like an oversized koala with at least three blankets, trying to warm your feet on my shins. And I wouldn’t exchange the nights when you’re falling asleep in my arms for anything.”

Aziraphale reaches for the demon’s hands, taking them into his own and Crowley lets him.

“I can’t deny that the prospect of sex is less than appealing for me, but that doesn’t mean that everything I’ve just said isn’t truth. I’ve wanted this, for a long time, even when I couldn’t let myself hope for it. I do care about you and I’m certainly not doing any of this out of pity. I want to be here in your company and if you let me I want to spend the rest of eternity with you. I am truly sorry about this mess and I–“ Aziraphale realizes how dry his throat is and has to swallow before he continues. “I want to make you feel happy a-and loved. I would give you anything you want. It’s the right thing to do. And I’ve meant to do exactly that, until this happened and I’m really sorry I led you on–“

“You don’t get it, do you? I’ve told you – I don’t care what we do or not do. Hell, if you told me that anything more than holding hands is off-limit, I would ressspect that.” He lowers his eyes to their joined hands. “But you knew you didn’t want to go through that and you didn’t think to mention it! You almost let me force you to– ” the demon chokes on his words. “I wouldn’t do that to you,” he continues more quietly, all of the anger gone.

Aziraphale squeezes his hands tighter, finally feeling up to catching Crowley’s eye. “Oh no, my dear, you didn’t do anything wrong; that was entirely my fault. I should have told you, of course. I thought… It doesn’t matter, does it? I was wrong. Obviously. You won’t think less of me if I can’t… If I never…” He’s pretty sure that the desperate hope is written all over his face for the demon to see and does nothing to hide it. This is a crucial issue and needs to be dealt with; there’s no room for secrets, not now.

Crowley seems to understand the importance of the moment and swallows the inevitable _don’t be an idiot_, which is most likely ready on the tip of his tongue. “’Course not, angel. I’ll take anything, but only if you’re comfortable giving it.” They are looking at each other with mild surprise almost as if they’re caught off guard that it was so easy. A smile slowly spreads on Aziraphale’s face; not one of those manic ones, nor even the bright I’m-so-glad-you’re-here-please-save-me-from-the-Bastille ones, but a content smile nonetheless.

After what happened, it reminds Crowley of sun reappearing after an afternoon shower, the sun rays stretching into the landscape (to draw in the humidity,) brightening the world and warming the air. He would very much like to continue to stare at it for the rest of the night, but this talk isn’t finished. He pulls his hands free and takes one of Aziraphale’s ones into his instead.

The angel’s hands are obviously well taken care of; soft and smooth, with no calluses, as his most challenging work is handling books. His nails are clipped short and neatly manicured. A bit of a colour would be nice, but there’s time for that. Would these hands be any different if he dirtied them with work for Heaven had he been a better employee? Crowley still remembers the ache one feels after rowing a boat full of survivors into safety. Or the one after digging a grave. He kept some of the calluses, although if asked, he wouldn’t share that they are to remind him of his failures.

Crowley starts massaging the angel’s hand, gently stroking the skin over the joints and rubbing the muscles. He doesn’t have any oil or lotion, but Aziraphale’s hand is soft and pliant, so he figures he can do without it.

“Is this okay?”

Aziraphale’s watching him, somehow fascinated, before he shifts back against the cushions and makes himself comfortable. “Splendid, my dear.”

Crowley’s now rubbing the muscles between the thumb and the index finger, the strokes firm, but careful so as to not apply too much pressure. His eyes are on their hands, but not all of his focus is. “Is touching okay in general or are they some places I should avoid?”

Aziraphale almost replies that anything is fine, before he catches himself. Crowley doesn’t want to hear half-truths and empty promises. He’s not asking because he has nothing better to do; he’s doing this for him. To make him feel safe and at ease. So he thinks about it. Which isn’t as easy as it sounds. Sure, they were people who touched him – on his arms and shoulders and back, but he’s never had anyone to touch him all over his body, so he has nothing to base his answer on. “I’m… not sure, actually. I’ve never– there hasn’t been anyone…”

“That’s okay,” Crowley murmurs, rubbing the bone leading to a little finger. “We’ll figure it out.” He moves to the next finger. “What about stroking your hair?”

“Oh, that’s lovely. I like it very much.”

There’s a tiny smile on the demon’s face. “Good to hear. You’re very good at it, too.”

Aziraphale’s pretty sure he must have misheard. Crowley’s complimenting him?!

Before he has time to contemplate it, there’s another question: “Hugging?” Crowley turns the angel’s hand over and is now massaging the palm with his thumbs. It feels really nice. He’s used to being pampered, but massage isn’t a thing he has indulged in. He’s never trusted a stranger when it came to excessive touching. But Crowley isn’t a stranger; he can entrust him with this. Aziraphale lets himself relax even further. It takes a moment for him to remember what was it that Crowley asked.

“Hugging! Yes, of course. And cuddling. That’s also very pleasant.”

“Good. I would miss it.”

Aziraphale throws a look at the demon, even though he keeps his gaze locked on their hands. He’s awfully honest today. It was only a handful of times the angel saw him being so open with him. His breath hitches.

Crowley shoots him a questioning glance, before he returns to massaging the padding of Aziraphale’s thumb. “Kissing?”

“Of cou–“ he starts answering without a thought. He doesn’t finish the sentence, though, as the wheels in his head start spinning. That’s not right, is it? How does he, in fact, feel about kissing? He’s trying to recall the sensation so hard, that he almost misses that Crowley moved to his other hand. Kissing’s mostly tolerable, that’s truth, but not enjoyable. Small pecks are fine, but anything involving tongue is just too much for him. He usually can’t stop thinking about the amount of saliva that is swapped during a kiss or the sour taste it lefts in his mouths. Almost like instant sobering.

Crowley’s watching him now. He keeps massaging the angel’s hand and silently waits for an answer.

“Depends, I guess.”

“On…?”

“Whether you use tongue or not.”

“No tongue?”

“No tongue.”

“Alright.” Crowley goes back to massaging Aziraphale’s fingers. It looks like he exhausted his supply of questions, or maybe he’s just trying to think up what else they should discuss. The silence stretches between them, but it’s not uncomfortable. Aziraphale watches Crowley working on his hand, pulling and stroking and rubbing, never breaking off contact between them. It feels wonderful and oddly intimate even though it’s just their hands that are touching. It looks like Crowley knows what he’s doing and Aziraphale briefly wonders when and where did he learn to do that.

“I’ve never did it either.” The demon doesn’t lift his eyes nor does he stop the massage. “Sex,” he adds.

Aziraphale’s eyes widen slightly at that. “Never?”

Crowley shrugs, trying for nonchalance, but he’s too self-conscious to pull it off. “Came close a few times, but…” But _what_?

_Bad timing?_

_I didn’t feel like it after all?_

_It wasn’t you?_

Aziraphale’s staring at him with wide eyes and it reminds Crowley of a rabbit caught in the headlights. “But you would, if…?”

“I told you, I don’t care if we do it or not.” It’s not enough. He’s painfully aware he can’t leave it at that. Aziraphale, with all his insecurities, would ponder it over and over in his head until he does something stupid again. Best to nip it in the bud. He finishes the massage with the last few strokes, but instead of letting go of Aziraphale’s hand, he intertwines their fingers. “It’s not like you with your food,” he begins and cringes. That’s one of the worst comparisons he’s ever come up with. “I don’t feel the pull of it as humans do. It’s very rarely on my mind, and when it is, it’s just a thing that exists, but has no impact on me. Like sports. If I happened to be involved, I would go with it, but it’s not that I’m looking forward to it. Or dread it. It just… is.”

It’s not a perfect description, nor overly accurate, but Crowley can’t express it any better than that. Not that he’s ever tried to explain it to anyone. Not that he planned to do it today. He hates laying himself bare like this before Aziraphale, to let him see he’s not as cool and laid-back as he tries to make himself appear. And he hates even more how that makes him feel, all anxious and vulnerable. As if it’s inevitable that something will humiliate him.

Crowley becomes aware his eyes are closed, but he doesn’t remember closing them. His hand, the one that is still intertwined with Aziraphale’s, is being pulled up and then he feels light kisses peppering the back side of it. He lets his eyes open and looks at the angel still covering his hand with kisses.

“Thank you for sharing, my dear.”

Waves of relief radiates from Aziraphale, who’s smiling again, and it’s so soft and heart-warming, that even Crowley can feel its effect on himself. He should act disgusted and roll his eyes like he always does, maybe even tell the angel to shut it. He does nothing of the sorts. Instead, he lets Aziraphale draw closer and lean against him, their hands still joined. This is actually quite nice.


End file.
